


Duty and Honor

by KatDancer



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 08:17:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatDancer/pseuds/KatDancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <a href="http://smg.photobucket.com/user/Katganistan/media/DA%20Stuff/ElissaCousland2_zpsbdec31a4.jpg.html"></a>
  <img/></p>
<p>"A Cousland always does her duty."  But is that enough to live on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After the Landsmeet

**Author's Note:**

> Bioware, as always, owns the characters and settting.
> 
> Comments welcome.

Elissa Cousland closed her eyes a moment, remembering what her father had once told her, even as she felt her chest squeezing painfully, her head spinning, her eyes and throat burning.

_“When life seems too much to bear, we just live for the day.  Tell yourself ‘Just this day.  I can make it through this day.’  And when that’s too much, live for the hour…. Breathe your way through the hour.  You can make it through one hour, pup.  And if even **that’s** too much, live for the minute.  Sixty seconds – you can do that, can’t you? _

_“And on those days when you can’t even tolerate another minute—Maker forbid you should ever face one, but if you do – live from breath to breath.”_

She took a breath.  Held it.  Exhaled.

It was very, VERY difficult to take in the next breath, but she did – a great tearing gasp that very nearly broke her heart. 

The exhale finally _did_ break it.

* * *

 

 

Elissa Cousland stormed out of the Landsmeet Chamber, tight-lipped and grim, refusing to let the tears flow from her eyes.  _What have I done?  Maker, what have I done?_

 “Elissa,” Leliana began, faintly horrified, trying to touch Elissa’s arm as their leader strode swiftly across the blue and gold carpeting, heading for the heavy wooden doors.  “Elissa, _wait_!”

“Leli…. Not now.”  Her voice sounded strange even to her – thick, strangled.  Full of tears or rage or… something.  She wasn’t sure exactly what yet, just that it was hot and painful and _Maker above_ , she needed to get out, get some air.

“But how _could_ you…”

Elissa kept going, shoving angrily past a relieved Ser Cauthrien  in the antechamber. 

* * *

 

 

Once she got outside of the Landsmeet, Elissa ran.  She didn’t care where she was going – couldn’t really see where she was headed either.  She ran away from the palace, away from the ruins of her life… away down past the docks until she slipped into an alley.  She backed herself into the darkest corner she could find, covered her face with her hands, slid down the wall, and began to cry bitterly.

_She had bested Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir in combat.  Spared him honorably because he yielded, and because Riordan said they needed every Warden they could get.  Alistair hated her guts and had left both the wardens and her, spitting the most vicious accusation he could think of at her.  And for the good of Ferelden and certainly not for love, Alistair was marrying Anora._

_And now, she, Elissa Cousland, had Loghain to worry about.  He owed her his life; she was responsible for him now._

A wet, cold nose poked her and Wolf whined, licking her face.  Elissa put her arms around the mabari’s neck and hugged it, glad that at least one of her companions had followed to make sure she was all right..“At least _you_ don’t hate me, do you, boy?” she asked shakily.

The mabari licked her and facing her, his large head nuzzling into the left side of her neck, put his paw on her right shoulder, for all the world as if he were hugging her.

_It was a pitiful thing_ , she realized, _when the only ‘person’ in the world who still cares about you has four legs and dog breath.  Maker, I want to die.  Please, please let me_ die _._

_One breath._

_Another._

“ _Cara mia_ ,” and she was scrambling to her feet, her sword in her hand, her heart pounding painfully.  She might want to die, but her body hadn’t gotten the message yet.

“Peace, my dear Warden.”  It was the Antivan assassin, Zevran Arainai, and he stood in the open, his arms crossed across his chest.  Wolf walked over to him and nuzzled him, then turned back to his mistress.

There was something fitting about the _assassin_ being the one to find her, she thought, and she sheathed her weapon.  _So be it_.  Maker help her, she was so tired, and she just wanted an end to it.  She closed her eyes, fighting to keep her breathing even, and leaned back against the wall.

She flinched as she felt a hand slide over her cheek gently, caressing her.  She tasted blood – realized she’d bitten her own lip.  The hand was stroking her still.  It was strangely soothing, and she wondered… why?  Why, when she was not struggling anymore?  He could kill her easily, leave, fulfill his contract, live.  Why _soothe_ her?

Her eyes slid open, and Zevran was right there in front of her, his warm brown eyes studying her.  Thank the Maker, there was no pity there in his eyes – only empathy.  On a fundamental level, he understood the choice she’d made, and why she’d made it.

“ _Cara mia_ ,” he whispered,  He stepped closer, opening his arms.

After a moment’s hesitation, she stepped forward, felt his arms close gently around her.  Put her face against his chest, breathing in deeply.  He smelled of leather and cloves, and his silky blond hair tickled her nose.  She shuddered hard against him, clutching him tightly as the tears claimed her again.

He didn’t feel the need to say more; neither did she.

* * *

 

 

Elissa had stopped at Eamon’s Denerim estate just long enough to grab her pack; she’d come and gone like a wraith.  She couldn’t spend another moment there – not knowing Alistair was there somewhere, hating her.  Eamon tried to stop her; she simply told him she’d meet him in Redcliffe in three days time.

“We need –“

“ ** _I_** need,” she said sharply, her voice and eyes full of pain.  “and what I need is to be far away from him – from here.  _Now_.”

None of them offered to accompany her.  _None_.  She supposed that said all there was to say about how they felt.

As she got to the stables, she saw there were three horses saddled, and Zevran’s face was dark and impassive as he held both his and hers by the reins.  The last horse was a huge, powerful black, and as she strode forward, his rider – in massive Chevalier armor – mounted up.

“It appears we ride with company,” Zevran muttered, as Elissa turned to face her millstone.

* * *

 

 

Loghain Mac Tir looked down at her from the back of his warhorse, his face closed and impassive.

Elissa fought to keep her face neutral as she mounted her own horse.  “Well then, shall we?”  She squeezed her knees, starting her horse walking forward.  _Maker, let me make it through the next breath._

Loghain pressed his horse into a trot, then reined in beside her.  “You probably think I’m some kind of monster….”

Elissa shuddered, took a deep breath, and shook her head sharply.  “Please… for the love of Andraste, **not now**.”

 

 


	2. Making Friends Wherever We Go

 “Well,” Loghain said, his rich voice dripping with sarcasm, “far be it from me to interrupt a truly world class sulk, but when WOULD it be a convenient time to discuss your plans for me?”

Her head snapped around, and her violet eyes glittered with anger and pain.  “Perhaps once I’ve finished kicking myself for sparing the man whose paranoia cost me _everything_ I _ever_ loved – my _family_ , my _home_ , my _reputation_... _even my fellow Warden_!”  Humiliation kept her from naming Alistair her lover; from the faint sneer on Loghain’s face he was entirely aware of what she meant.

“Yes, well, you’ll thank me later for _that_ favor,” he drawled.

His teeth slammed together with a click as Elissa tackled him from the saddle in fury and they went down in a hard tangle of limbs, the two spooked horse dancing around them.  She scored one good punch to the side of his head before the larger man rolled , pinning her to the mud, and fetched her a cuff to the side of the head that made her head spin.

“And there we have it: honest anger.  So tell me, Warden, what am I to be?  Fodder for the darkspawn?  A sacrifice?  Scapegoat?”

“A dead man,” came a soft, Antivan voice, and with it… the cold kiss of steel against Loghain’s throat, “if you do not get off the Warden now.”

Loghain got up, his disgust evident.  “And will you threaten the archdemon with your blades, assassin, when she lets her emotions goad her into another clearly stupid move?  Coddling her will only get us all killed.”

Elissa got up, covered in mud, panting hard… knowing he was right.

Without a word, she mounted up again and without even a backward glance pressed her horse into a ground-eating canter.

 

 

Elissa sat down at a table in the tavern, frowning, as she put quill to parchment.  She ignored the stares of other patrons and refused to feel uneasy or badly about the “strangeness” of her literacy.

_Dear Alistair –_

She looked at the two words, pondered crossing them out.  He’d made it very clear how he felt about her; but of course she didn’t feel the same way.  Should she change it to avoid offending his sensibilities?

No.  Let him be offended.  Couslands always did their duty, and were truthful as well.

_Dear Alistair –_

_I know it won’t make any difference to you, but I_ am _sorry.  I’m sorry that my decision hurt you.  I’m sorry that my actions have caused this rift between us.  I know you can’t accept it or forgive it, but at least let me explain it._

 _He_ surrendered to me _.  The only honorable thing I could do was to accept it.  To kill him after he knelt before me and yielded – it would have been murder:  dishonorable and unjust, and it would have reflected badly on the start of your reign._

_It turns out there is a compelling reason to have made Loghain a Warden –_

She paused, and cursed as a tear dropped onto the line she’d just written, making a big blotch  of black ink on her letter.  She blotted it as best she could, then rewrote the line.

_There really is a compelling reason to have made Loghain a Warden.  I wish to the Maker you hadn’t renounced the Wardens so I could explain it to you…_

She had to blot another tear blotch.

“ _Querida_ ,”  Zevran slipped up behind her, set a mug of cold beer on the table in front of her, and started to massage her shoulders.  “Whatever you are writing there… set it aside.  How can you deprive your fellows here of your beauty, _sans_ red eyes and sniffling nose?”

She sighed, folding the parchment and putting it away.  She closed her eyes and leaned forward, letting him have better access to her shoulders.  She could feel the tension bleeding away as his fingers dug into her muscles, releasing the tense knots there.

“Drink,” he encouraged, pushing the mug closer.

She drank, sighing and letting him work the kinks out of her neck. 

A shadow fell over them, and Elissa looked up to see a rather rough looking sort glaring at Zevran.

“Why don’t you stick to your own kind,” the man growled, crowding Zevran. 

Elissa leaped up without hesitation, yanking her dagger from its sheath and holding it to the side of the man’s throat threateningly.  “He _is_ sticking to his own kind,” she said deceptively softly, her eyes hard.  “Step off.”  When he didn’t move, she touched the steel against his throat and said even more quietly, “ _Step_.”

As the man backed off, she stepped out from the table.  There was a deathly silence in the room, and with a sharp glance at Zevran, she headed for the door.

 Zevran sighed.  “Here we are,” he said, “making friends wherever we go.”


	3. Fireside Chat

Elissa sat staring into the fire, her mabari, Wolf, cuddled close beside her.  _Where do I go from here_ , she wondered.

Never before had she felt so keenly the burden of her family’s motto, “A Cousland always does his duty.”  Doing her duty was a bitter thing – it had taken everything she loved from her.  No family, no home, no love, no Wardens – she was existing, just barely.

There was no question of running away: she had a responsibility to see this through.  She turned over and over in her head what she knew of the army she had raised, their capabilities… and  came to the conclusion that no matter what she did, who she sent where, the death toll was going to be ferocious.

“Commander.”

Elissa looked up.  Loghain, of course.  Could this night not get any more painful and horrible, she wondered.  “Loghain.”

“I see you cannot sleep.”  He stood looking into the fire himself.  “I find I have the same problem when contemplating heading into battle.”

Elissa was quiet for a long time, and just as the former Teyrn began to turn away, thinking she was ignoring him, she said softly to the fire, “I owe you an apology.”

“Pardon?”  He was not being snide – he seemed genuinely surprised.

“I’m sorry, Loghain.  I’ve been unpleasant, to say the least, and there is no excuse for me having attacked you.  It was unprofessional, and it was certainly ignoble.”  She looked at him then, and he saw that she was serious. 

“I think,” he said cautiously, “that given the pressure we’ve all been under, such a reaction is… understandable.  For my part, it was petty to say….”  He stopped, seeing the look in her eyes.  “Well, I confess, it was petty.”

She got to her feet, dusting herself off.  “Well.”

“Well,” he agreed.  “You should sleep, if you can.”

Her eyes were haunted.  “Sleep, knowing how many I will be sending to their deaths?”

He nodded.  “It’s necessary.”

“The sleep, or the slaughter?”

“Yes,” he said, the faintest hint of a smile touching his eyes.

She sighed, looking down at her feet.  “How do you deal with it,” she asked.  “How do you make these decisions and live with yourself after?”

He sighed.  “Some generals I’ve known turned to drink.  I don’t recommend it before the battle, mind you.  And some to religion.  Some to both.”  He eyed her speculatively.  “You don’t seem particularly keen on religion.”

She uttered a short, harsh, humorless bark of laughter.  “All the prayers I’ve lifted up unto the Maker, all the blessings I’ve begged of clerics….”  She turned quickly to look back into the fire, her lips compressed to a tight white line, her shoulders tense.  Then she looked back up to him, her eyes dark and flat in the gloom of night.  “But I suspect I’m not telling you anything you hadn’t already learned a long time ago.”

“It is awfully convenient,” he said thoughtfully, “how the Maker won’t answer the prayers of the faithful until the Chant of Light is heard in every corner of Thedas.”

She shut her eyes, gave a little lost smile.  “Now, now… that sounds remarkably like heresy to me… or is it blasphemy – I can never keep them straight.”

They stood in the darkness together.

“How do you cope,” she asked quietly.

He snorted.  “Ask me in the morning,” he said, turning on his heel and heading back to his tent.

 

* * *

 

Zevran, apparently, was happy to demonstrate to Elissa how _he_ coped.

 

 

 


End file.
